I am somewhat ashamed to report that today has been the least productive day of my Spring Break. It lacked the overall game-changiness of painting and treating myself to sushi and a massage. In fact, I suggested to Madison that I would keep her home so we could go to the beach together so that any lucky observers would be able to see my latest work of art (medium: oil on skin). As it turned out, I still have some residual soreness from that stiff neck. I’ve been stretching it and treating it with pain killers and the WBC, so it should be fine tomorrow. Perhaps I will keep Mad home tomorrow and we will have an adventure then. Please, weather gods?
My first order of business was to drive three minutes up the road swap out my cable box. We haven’t been able to DVR anything or playback anything we’ve previously DVRed for some time. It would also make loud and obnoxious robotic noises randomly. The first time it happened, I woke for work and heard this clicking and thought it was coming from outside our home. “Turn that shit off, it’s 4 in the morning,” I muttered while rolling over in bed. I soon found out it was coming from the cable box. Most frustratingly, it didn’t allow me to immediately rewind live television when I needed to most: when David Wright hit his grand slam in the WBC and when I saw this one extremely attractive actress for .34 seconds. I lost her forever. Or until I see the commercial again.
I suppose Lynnette will use the new-found capabilities of the replacement cable box to DVR the hell out of Duck Dynasty.
Remember how I forgot to order checks yesterday? Well, at some time in the afternoon – probably when I withdrew cash for my massage – I seemed to have misplaced my debit card. I did a search for it in all the usual places – my room, the computer room, the living room, various nooks and crannies in my car – but with no luck. So I am not-so-pleased to report that I have new checks on the way, a little booklet of temporary checks, $10 less in my checking account, and a new debit card that looks super-fake. It doesn’t have those raised, embossed numbers like most credit/debit cards. It was printed on the spot, so it looks closer to those fake cards that get thrown in with offers for new credit cards that come in the mail. But it works. That’s all that counts. In all likelihood, my card is somewhere in Aiea, but there is at least a 49% chance that I will stumble across my card in the next two weeks, then destroy it without Lynnette’s knowledge, because she loves to use things like that as excuses to call me stupid because she thinks it all the time.
I broke my self-imposed no-farther-than-Aiea boundary by driving all the way down to Kahala Mall. They’ve got that Soha store where they sell decorative shells, starfish, and other vestiges of aquatic life. I wanted to scoop some up without Lynnette around.
You see, there are two primary (and 2,447 ancillary) reasons Lynnette and I argue. The first is simple miscommunication. The second is more difficult to solve. It is almost impossible for Lynnette and I to work on anything together because we both have visions of the way these projects are supposed to work out. The problem is that 99.9% of the time, the stuff we see in our heads doesn’t align. It’s not that we can’t compromise, it’s that some times when we are working on things – like this bathroom redecoration – there really isn’t a compromise on positioning things or placement or whatever. And if the reality ends up looking differently than it did in our heads, well, that’s called disappointment.
So I wanted to go to Soha so Lynnette couldn’t passive-aggressive comment her way out of my choices. If she really doesn’t like something, I will gladly return it. But me standing in that store talking to myself for 15 minutes is better than Lynnette and I talking to each other in that store for 15 minutes. If you’re married, you’re probably nodding your head right now.
Something came over me and I fell into a 2-hour nap after getting home from Kahala. I went to bed before 12, I didn’t exert a lot of energy. But somehow, I ended up next to Abby on the couch. “NCIS, Ab?” I said out loud. She looked at me and did that slow blink thing. The next thing I knew, It was almost 3 in the afternoon and my stomach was making hungry noises, as opposed to angry noises. I ate a late lunch, then turned on the TV to watch a little WBC. In a final act of errandom, I drove down to Longs to pick up 15 packs of Sapporo saimin. I also picked up some flowers for Lynnette. She just got home! This is the conversation we just had:
Me: I got you something. It’s in the fridge.
Me: Yeah, but I don’t know if you’re going to like it, because you can’t eat it.
Lynnette: Argh! Darn. That was going to be my next question, “Is it food?”
Me: Yeah, sorry.
Lynnette: *opens door, sees flowers* Aww…
I am sure it was an “Aww” because she felt special. But I am sure it was also an “Aww” because it wasn’t a box of salted caramel cupcakes from Sugarlina.